


Man That You Fear

by Twiona



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Bullying, Child Abandonment, Childhood, Corporal Punishment, Family Reunions, Gen, Great Depression, How Oliver Turned Into A Killer, Lobotomy, Matricide, Medical School, Mental Institutions, Mommy Issues, Mother-Son Relationship, Orphanage, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Revenge, Rise Of Bloody Face, Sad Ending, Skin Removal, Skinning, Songfic, Why Oliver Was Abandoned, World War II, Young Oliver, bloody face, first kill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiona/pseuds/Twiona
Summary: "There's no one left to hear you scream. No one left for you."This story describes the significant moments in Oliver Thredson's life which led to the rise of Bloody Face, beginning with his birth and early childhood through the Second World War then ending with his descent into darkness as he retraces his roots.The inspiration behind this comes from the brilliant song 'Man That You Fear' by my favourite artist Marilyn Manson! I've quoted the lyrics at the beginning of each chapter since it brings the story together nicely.I don't own AHS or Oliver Thredson, which is a shame. I don't own the song either, which is even more of a shame.





	1. Origins

_"The ants are in the sugar,_  
_The muscles atrophied,_  
_We're on the other side,_  
_The screen is us and we're T.V."_

**January 1930, Briarcliff Asylum, Women's Ward.**

For what seemed like the hundredth time today, Lynn Thredson shivered violently in the confines of her cell as a deathly cold breeze swept around her freezing body. She instinctively tensed her legs in anticipation of running out of the room and going to the slightly warmer space in Briarcliff's common room. However, before she took a step off her bed, the tiny child in her large pregnant belly gave her a firm kick as a painful reminder of what happens when a young, attractive woman is alone in the common room with insane killers. She sighed and sank back into the lumpy mattress, absentmindedly wrapping her only blanket around her stomach to protect her unborn baby.

Never in all of Lynn's life had she ever felt more alone and neglected than when she was admitted into Briarcliff. When her family discovered who she really was, they threw her in here and locked her away forever. Her crime? Being in love with another woman. The psychiatrists at Briarcliff had found it quite ironic that she had managed to get pregnant considering her 'condition', but despite their mocking words, they had been treating her much better since they learned of her pregnancy. They wouldn't dare use harmful drug therapy on a pregnant lady.

If only her family could see her now, terrified and pregnant as a result of a violent rape from Briarcliff's most dangerous resident - Kevin Sawyer. Perhaps if they would have known what they'd let her in for, they wouldn't have disowned her and she would still be at home, safe and loved.

There was no point speculating. She didn't know what would have happened if they would have made a different decision. All that she knew was that this was certainly no place for a child. As a matter of fact, the entire country was no place for a child right now; the Wall Street Crash last year was starting to have a serious impact on the economy and Briarcliff could barely afford to feed their patients. There was even talk of the Catholic Church buying the place from the state. Lynn was dreading it - as soon as this institution falls into private hands, they would treat the patients however they liked with no intervention from the state.

Not that she was treated well in the state's hands - her traumatic pregnancy had been proof of that.

Another sharp kick interrupted her train of thoughts. Lynn shushed her unborn child tenderly and wrapped the warm blanket tighter around herself. She had gotten over what happened to her months ago and now that she had a precious baby to think about, she felt like she had a purpose in life. Ever since she could feel the baby kicking her, alive and well, her mood had brightened up considerably from how she was when she first arrived at the institution.

She knew that given her 'condition', she probably wouldn't have ever had a child in her life if she would have still been a free woman. In Lynn's affection-starved eyes, her sweet little baby was a miracle, a beautiful precious gift that she would cherish with her entire soul.

Another sharp kick came to her stomach, making her gasp in pain. She was due to give birth any day now and she couldn't wait to finally be able to hold her child. It didn't matter if it was a boy or a girl, she would make sure that they would have all the love in the world. Lynn wouldn't let her memory of the rape taint her relationship with her child in any way.

She cried out loudly with animalistic ferocity as a kick to her ribs caused them to shudder and almost break from the force. Her baby was very strong, her ribs must have bruised at the very least. Lynn was in so much pain that she barely noticed the sticky sensation of her water breaking.

Thankfully, an orderly heard her cries of pain and immediately called for backup once he took one look at her delicate condition. All of the guards knew what had happened to poor Lynn and they had all 'taken care' of the insane brute who attacked her. These days, Kevin Sawyer was so damaged from their treatment that he had to eat his meals through a straw. Insanity is no excuse for attacking a defenceless lady. Ever since then, the guards had all gone out of their way to make sure she was safe and protected from the others. Lynn was a kind lady and they all admired her inner strength. They knew that she would be a wonderful mother.

Seconds after the guard shouted for help, several more guards appeared at the door of her cell, some carrying a stretcher, others running off to prep the operating theatre and alert the doctors. They flinched at her screams of agony and gently lifted Lynn onto the stretcher and carried her out.

While she was being hurried down the hall towards the infirmary, Lynn received another sharp kick to her ribs. This time, a large snapping sound resounded through the lonely halls of the asylum. White-hot agony shot through her entire body and she found herself in too much pain to even scream any more. With only a small pathetic whimper, she tumbled into blissful unconsciousness with one hand tenderly caressing her stomach and the other one holding her broken rib.

———————————————————————

Lynn drowsily slurred a few indecipherable words when she eventually came around to consciousness again. The doctors must have drugged her - there was no way that this sluggishness she was experiencing was natural. She tried to open her eyes and figure out where she was, but every time her eyes opened even a crack, all she saw was blinding white light and her vision span impossibly fast until she was forced to close them again.

Memories of what had happened to her were fragmented: she remembered lying in her cold bed with her baby and not much else. Lynn frowned in confusion when she felt a tight bandage wrapped around her torso and another around her stomach. She wondered what had happened to her.

Suddenly, the shrill cry of a baby erupted like a banshee's wail less than a meter away from where she lay. _Strange_ , Lynn thought. _There aren't any children in Briarcliff, apart from-_

Her baby! Lynn snapped her eyes open with newfound determination, ignoring the violent spinning of the painfully bright room. The first thing she noticed were the bandages around her body and also her deflated stomach. Memories of her baby breaking one of her ribs as she went into labour came flooding back to her like a freight train. What happened to her didn't matter though, all she cared about was the wellbeing of her child.

"Baby?" Lynn called to her child sleepily. Despite the agony still flooding through her, she attempted to pull herself from the infirmity bed and peer inside the small cot to see her child for the first time.

"Woah, woah, woah. Please relax there, you've had a very stressful birth. You need to take it easy for a while," Doctor Kelley hushed her in a soothing voice. He rushed over to the bed and carefully pushed her back down when he saw that she had ignored his advice and continued to reach for the cot with the screaming baby.

The doctor's kind green eyes glistened when he smiled down at her and saw how compassionate this new mother was for her child. Kelley had delivered a lot of babies, but he had never seen a mother quite so enthusiastic before. Without waiting a moment longer, he turned and reached for the baby that she was so desperate to meet.

"We had to deliver your child through cesarian section since the pain from your broken rib had rendered you unconscious," he told her. "Your baby happened to be in breech position as well, so it was the only option that was available."

Before he handed her the baby, he motioned for a nurse to carefully prop her up with pillows so she could be more comfortable sitting up. When she was in position, he smiled at her again and placed the squirming bundle in her arms without touching her damaged rib.

"Congratulations - it's a boy!"

Lynn couldn't help but cry with joy at the beautiful little boy in her arms. Luckily for him, he looked just like his mother and nothing like his cruel father. His brown eyes were soulful and smouldering and his short crop of dark brown hair was the exact same colour as Lynn's shoulder length strands. He was perfect.

She bent down carefully, ignoring the screaming protests of her torso and planted a gentle kiss on her baby's cheek. He stopped crying almost immediately and snuggled into his mother's touch. Lynn saw how much he craved her warm embrace in the freezing cold room, so she kept her cheek pressed against his as she whispered softly to him.

"I love you so much, my sweet baby. I promise I'll adore you forever."

Doctor Kelley smiled proudly at the new mother and waited a few minutes before speaking. "What is his name?"

Lynn planted another kiss on his smooth skin before pulling back just enough to get a good look at his face. In all honesty, she hadn't thought of a name for her child yet, the only thing that she was certain of is that he will have her surname, not his father's. After all, he is _her_ son.

As she gazed into his precious eyes, a name suddenly sprang to her from the back of her mind. She'd always liked it and it seemed to suit her son perfectly. With a decisive smile, she kept her eyes on her baby as she announced his name out loud for the very first time.

"His name is Oliver," she whispered tenderly. "Oliver Thredson."


	2. Hey, Cruel World

_"Spread me open,_  
_Sticking to my pointy ribs,_  
_Are all your infants in abortion cribs?"_

Oliver's beautiful bow shaped lips curved into a peaceful smile as he slept soundly in his mother's arms. Occasionally, he would scrunch his face up tightly in his sleep and shuffle around at the sensation of his long eyelashes tickling his cheeks every time he took a breath. Lynn thought it was adorable. Despite feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, she prevented herself from sleeping so she could admire her baby boy for as long as possible.

Every sound, every small movement and every peaceful breath was so precious to Lynn. The first few moments of a baby's life were sacred and she wanted to make up for being unconscious during his birth and missing his first waking moments.

Doctor Kelley was very understanding and he assured Lynn that herself and Oliver would have all the time they needed to recover from their ordeal. They would have their food brought to them, they would have nurses surveying them around the clock and both of them would be kept in the warmer part of the institution during these cold winter months. Doctor Kelley's compassionate nature made Lynn worry even more about the future of Briarcliff: if the Catholic Church actually do go ahead with their plan to overtake the asylum, the kind doctors and protective guards currently employed here will quite possibly be replaced.

Lynn shook her head to clear her mind of any unpleasantness. It didn't matter what happened to the asylum as long as Oliver was safe. He was everything that mattered to her. He was her world.

Finally, Lynn began to drift into sleep, knowing that her healthy baby boy will be safe and sound when she awoke.

———————————————————————

Three weeks later, Lynn was still in the infirmary with Oliver permanently cradled in her arms. She was an excellent mother, selflessly caring for Oliver's needs and fussing over him constantly. Maybe she was _too_ overprotective, but nobody could blame her - she had seen the cruelties of the world first hand and she would do anything to make sure her baby was safe from harm. In the back of her mind, she was also terrified that Oliver might turn out like his father; a cruel, sadistic monster hellbent on harming others. She hoped that if he spent all his time with her, he would grow up to be kind and caring like she is.

Looking down into his tiny face, she couldn't see a monster there at all. He was just her sweet little baby without a single evil bone in his body. Lynn wondered why she was worried in the first place, there was no way that such a cute child could ever harm anyone.

She placed a kiss on his forehead, just how she knew he liked. Oliver gurgled and squirmed pleasantly at the feel of her warm lips against his skin. These past three weeks have been blissful, both of them having each other to love and adore unconditionally. They were each other's only family and they couldn't ask for anything more.

Footsteps began to approach Lynn's bed and she knew without even looking up that there were several people walking towards her. She assumed that it was the nurses that had come to bathe her, since she was still too weak to stand. When she glanced up and saw the small group of unfamiliar faces, she was quite surprised.

"Here she is, Lynn Thredson," came a rough voice. When Lynn looked at the man speaking, she recognised him as Doctor Budge (or Budgie, as he was better known) - the head of the institution. He wasn't very well liked; he treated the kind members of staff quite poorly and the patients were abused and constantly neglected by him. Budgie was the only member of staff that Lynn actually hated. Seeing him here now could only mean trouble.

The three women surrounding him were stern looking nuns with cold eyes. Could they be here to take over Briarcliff just like the rumours suggest? Even if they _were_ only here to look around the institution, Lynn's grip on Oliver tightened protectively by instinct. If they wanted to harm her baby, they would have to go through her.

 _"Miss_ Thredson," one of the nuns spat, emphasising the 'Miss' with undisguised disgust, "we are here to speak with you about an important issue."

The nun's eyes drifted down to Lynn's small baby in her grip and she shivered at the thought of little Oliver coming to any harm. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she felt herself drawing her aching body up straighter to protect her baby at any costs, should it be necessary.

"Why are you here?" Lynn had no idea that her voice was capable of sounding so threatening, but she was glad that it did - the nuns had taken a small step backwards away from the defensive woman. Even Budgie had flinched slightly.

The nun that spoke earlier seemed to regain her composure faster than the others. She puffed her chest out confidently and resumed her judgmental stare aimed at the new mother.

"Since you have given birth to this child in a mental institution, you are _obviously_ unfit to be a proper mother to him. We will be taking your child to St. Ursula's Home For Lost Children where he will have a chance at a normal life."

Lynn felt her entire world collapsing. Oliver was everything she had and now they were going to steal him away on the grounds that she was supposedly a bad mother? She trembled with fury, baring her teeth and preparing to defend her right to keep her baby when the nun spoke again with a cruel sneer.

"Additionally, you are unwed. A child must have _two_ parents, Miss Thredson. Not one. Especially not a mentally peverted one."

"How dare you?!" Lynn shouted, waking poor Oliver up from his slumber. "I adore my child! There is nobody in this world who could possibly care for him as much as I do. A child needs his mother - to separate us now would only bring him harm, that I can guarantee. You will NEVER take him away."

The nuns stared at the woman with smug expressions and they all knew it was only a matter of time before talks were over and they would have no choice but to remove the baby by force. But for now, they would keep talking until the orderlies arrive. It wouldn't do to have her harm the baby in any way, this is a very delicate matter.

"How do you expect your child to grow up in this institution, Miss Thredson? He needs food, clothes, an education, friends his own age. Not to mention, everyone here knows how your baby was conceived, do you really want your child knowing that he had been born as a result of rape?"

Lynn flinched slightly but remained defiant. Oliver was now fully awake but he wasn't making any noise at all. It was unusual for him since he was normally a very vocal child, but perhaps he was able to realise that this situation was Lynn's living nightmare so he stayed quiet until the terror had passed.

"He's MY baby. I'm not going to give him up. He's only three weeks old, for goodness sake! Now leave us be, I've made my mind up and I will not change my decision."

The nuns muttered angrily to themselves about the 'selfish woman' but Lynn didn't care. She vaguely heard Budgie sigh with annoyance on the right side of her bed, so she tilted her head slightly to observe him with wary eyes.

"Look, Lynn," he snapped with his heavy Bostonian accent, "the entire goddamn country is strapped for cash at the moment, and that includes us too." He ignored the nuns glaring at him for his blasphemous comment and carried on. "Ya can't expect me to keep your baby here when we can barely feed ourselves. I'd rather have these ladies take him off our hands and be done with it. Whadd'ya say?"

Lynn's eyes were like stone. "I say _no_."

Budgie frowned and gestured to someone waiting at the door of the infirmary. Lynn panicked when a small group of orderlies approached her with sympathetic expressions. They didn't want to do this to her, but they couldn't afford to lose their jobs. One of them grabbed her ankles to stop her from running and the others moved towards her baby.

At this point, both Lynn and Oliver were crying. The last time Lynn had felt this terrified was when she was a teenager and she heard about the outbreak of the Great War. Those same emotions: fear, powerlessness, anger and confusion were all coming back to her.

"I'm sorry," one of the orderlies whispered to her as he took Oliver out of her arms. Even though Lynn had a good relationship with the orderlies, she was seeing red once they removed her baby from her arms. She roared with fury and punched one of the burly men in the face in an attempt to free herself and take back her child. They jumped in shock at her sudden strength and pulled her limbs into restraints, effectively trapping her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the nuns scooping Oliver out of the guard's hands and smiling triumphantly. Without even allowing her to say goodbye to Oliver, they swept him from the room like a shadow.

"No! Oliver!"

"Don't be so sad, Lynn. Besides, it's kinda funny if ya think about it - ya little baby Oliver is now an orphan, just like in that Dickens novel," Budgie laughed, casually wandering out of the infirmary after the nuns with a sadistic smile on his face. She vaguely heard him mockingly call _'please, sir, I want some more'_ as he left the room. The guards left as well once she was firmly strapped to the bed, offering regretful glances as they exited. Even the guard who she had punched looked upset for her.

Doctor Kelley slowly made his way over to the hysterical woman strapped to the bed. Without saying a word, he gently placed Oliver's little name tag that had once been wrapped around his wrist in her hand and left her alone to mourn. Through her tears, Lynn glanced down at the little red tag and squeezed it gently in her grip.

It was the only thing that she had left of Oliver.


	3. Predator Or Prey

_"I was born into this,_  
_Everything turns to shit,_  
_The boy that you loved is the man that you fear"_

Three days passed by agonisingly slowly. It had been exactly 72 hours since Lynn had lost the right to keep her child. Every minute, every second, every moment seemed like an eternity in hell. She hadn't slept a wink since Oliver had been taken and she rejected all her food and drink in despair.

Of course, the doctors simply force fed her and their rough treatment of the poor woman had caused painful bruises to form at the back of her throat from the feeding tube being constantly inserted. More and more patients were appearing at Briarcliff; the Great Depression had seen an influx of patients with mood disorders who had lost everything from the economic crash. The overworked doctors didn't have any time or energy to waste on making sure Lynn ate properly. They all knew that if it was up to Budgie, he would just let her starve to death, so even though Lynn was suffering terribly from the poor treatment, it was still preferable to dying. But only just.

Lynn's mind had been blank for the last three days in a desperate act of self-preservation. She couldn't bear to exist in this hellhole without her darling child to take her mind away from the abuse surrounding her at Budgie's hands. Earlier today, it was rumoured that a new patient bit him so he ordered poor Doctor Kelley to remove all of the patient's teeth without anaesthetic. When Oliver was here, she hadn't noticed quite how bad things really were in Briarcliff but there was no way she could escape it now, and it was getting worse.

Most patients were left strapped to their beds their whole lives and they never learned to walk. An elderly woman a few beds down from Lynn had muscles so weak that she could barely lift her legs. Similarly, some unfortunate patients were left for hours in straitjackets to keep them under control; the lack of staff was taking a toll on Briarcliff and Lynn was counting the days until those nuns would return and take over the asylum for good. Lynn was dreading it. She knew that she had to get out of here.

Perhaps if she lied and somehow convinced the doctors that she had been cured of her 'disorder', they would see that she was sane and Lynn would be released and free to care for her beloved baby. It was the only plan she had so she decided to go for it.

She requested an appointment with one of the psychiatrists later that day and hoped for the best. Lynn didn't care which doctor she was going to speak to as long as she would have a chance at seeing her baby once more.

———————————————————————

Unfortunately for Lynn, things went from bad to worse very quickly. The doctor that she had been assigned to had sadly been Doctor Budge, who didn't even entertain the idea of her being 'cured' and hurriedly dismissed her. Instead of leaving his office, she had made matters much worse for herself by furiously insisting that she was sane and demanding him to release her.

The huge, burly man behind the desk had smiled sadistically at his patient and scribbled something down in his notes. With a sly smile, he had informed her that he had done as she asked and removed her diagnosis of homosexuality, however he had added 'paranoia', 'delusional thoughts' and 'uncontrollable anger' in her file instead, condemning her to undertake the more severe methods of treatment.

Before Lynn could object, he had taken great pleasure in describing invasive psychosurgery methods to her which would combat her new 'disorders'. Even though Lynn was furious at him, she held back her anger so he wouldn't actually go ahead with the amygdalotomy that he had so enthusiastically described.

She was now sat in her cold cell reviewing all that had been said in her therapy session and feeling a horrendous amount of guilt for allowing her son to be taken from her. She was powerless and weak, just like her little newborn. The only difference was that she would miss her little child every day of her life whereas Oliver would grow up alone and unloved, thinking that his mother had willingly neglected him.

The only thing they would ever have in common would be a crippling sense of loneliness knowing that the only other person in the world who should provide unconditional love to them is nowhere to be found.

———————————————————————

Oliver wasn't adapting very well to his new environment at all. Considering that he had been born in a mental asylum with terrible living conditions, anyone would naturally assume that he'd settle in nicely to a warm, clean orphanage. The nuns understood that he was undoubtedly missing his mother, even if they wouldn't admit it out loud. All the children were like this at first, especially the newborns.

No mercy was given to any of them though. The nuns believed that all the children here, especially Oliver, were born from sin and they were determined to 'purify them in the eyes of god'. Cuddles and kisses were unheard of here and the only love that they would be taught is to love their god. The children might not understand why they are so harsh with them now, but the nuns claimed that they would surely realise just how valuable their upbringing was when they reach adulthood. One day, they will be very thankful.

Oliver was placed in the nursery section of the orphanage to be cared for until someone is generous to adopt him. Given the terrible economic climate, it looked highly unlikely that the little baby would find a home in the next few years. The poor child was doomed to live here through his early childhood and the only hope he had to live for was that someone would give him a home when he was older.

Even though his new home was warmer than Briarcliff, it was noisier and somehow more chaotic than the asylum had ever been. Children were running around the halls, teasing one another and running around in cliques. The quieter ones were left alone at the mercy of the bullies and the nuns would only interfere if it was completely necessary.

Once Oliver turns five years old, he will be moved to a different part of the orphanage away from the young babies. His fifth birthday would be the day he would finally meet the other boys and it would be the true test of his character. Either he adapts well and blends in with the others or he stands out and becomes the new target for the bullies.

He would either be the predator or the prey.


	4. Chosen

_"Pray until your number,_  
_Asleep from all your pain,_  
_Your apple has been rotting,_  
_Tomorrow's turned up dead"_

**August 1939, St. Ursula's Home For Lost Children, Boy's Ward.**

Of course, in the cosmic joke that was Oliver Thredson's life, he was everybody's victim here. At nine years old, he was extremely thin for his age from malnutrition and stress. Ever since the dreaded day of his fifth birthday, he had been bullied by practically every child in this hellhole as soon as he was transported to the boy's ward, as well as being abused by some of the staff as well. Oliver often thought over the years that if nuns were allowed to gamble, most of them would have bet that he would have died by now from pure pain and loneliness.

What very few people knew was that Oliver was actually much stronger than he looked. His small body might have been timid and awkward but his mind was confident and powerful. Black swirls would often churn in his chocolate coloured eyes whenever he got angry even though he never physically retaliated against his tormentors. Something was building inside him all these years however; a terrible anger against all who had caused him harm was beginning to corrupt the edge of his sanity, slowly sweeping over his thoughts and into his dreams. Oliver could feel that he was different from everyone else but he never quite knew how or why.

It was one day near the end of August that Oliver began to mull it over in his mind once more. Why was he different to the other children? Were the other children intimidated by him? He knew that his intellect was unmatched and it was obvious that he was far too smart to be stuck in the same class as the imbeciles that surrounded him. Additionally, he had great determination and he often achieved anything he put his brilliant mind to, including learning several languages by himself and broadening his knowledge any way he could.

To prove his point, Oliver pulled out his battered paperback _Of Mice And Men_ book from underneath his bed and squinted at the words on the page that he'd bookmarked from his last reading session. He knew that he should wear his glasses to read but he wasn't in the mood today to get laughed at for wearing the thick, ugly lenses. All he wanted was to relax for a few rare moments with one of his favourite books.

Oliver loved _Of Mice And Men_. He often found himself debating the universal themes the book was tackling and the way that it gave a voice to America's lonely and forgotten. He felt like he understood the struggle of the main characters and their desperation to run from their past and start afresh with their dream of a brighter future. Oliver sure as hell wanted to run from the abuse and torment he had been receiving his whole life.

Naturally, the thing he wanted more than anything was for his parents to finally come and collect him one day - if they were still alive that is. Who else would love the shy, quiet, starving boy other than his own family? Not a day went by where he didn't wish that they would turn up at the front door of the orphanage with kind smiles on their faces welcoming him back into their lives. He would hold both their hands and skip out of the door to freedom where he would always be cherished and-

_Thud!_

A thick, heavy object struck the side of Oliver's head and the pure shock of it knocked him off his bed onto the hard floor. Pain erupted from his right temple and he felt an unpleasant dripping sensation from the bruised area. Before he could even see what had hit him, he felt strong arms gripping his weak ones and dragging him onto his feet. He kept his head down, knowing that it was better for him to appear nonchalant so the bullies would get bored and leave.

He recognised the cruel laughter surrounding him, he was once again a victim to Michael Stott and his gang, one of the many groups of children who bullied Oliver. Normally, there is only one gang who is the 'popular crowd' and everybody else fears and loathes them, but not here. Oliver's orphanage had several gangs of varying ages and they all seemed to have a mutual understanding of each other: _stay out of each other's way and everything will run smoothly._ Since Oliver was nowhere near popular enough to have friends, all the gangs decided to pick on him like a little toy that they traded with their friends. Considering their unwritten rules about leaving the other gangs alone, Oliver often observed them bullying him at set times to avoid confrontation.

If it wasn't so depressing, he might have laughed at how punctual the bullies were in this place. Same time, same place, same people. It was almost like they had a schedule with his name written on it.

Right now, it was 5:30pm. Michael was right on time. How considerate.

"Hey, Thredson! What are ya lookin' so sad for? I thought ya liked readin'!"

Oliver realised right then that it had been a hardback book that had struck his head earlier and knocked him off his bed. The only hardback book that was allowed in the orphanage was the Bible, all the others were paperback. This was probably the tenth time they'd thrown the Bible at him over the years. Honestly, he wasn't impressed by their actions at all; they had such a lack of imagination that they just pulled the exact same move on every kid they tormented. It was so predictable that it was beginning to irritate Oliver more than the bullying itself. Some people have absolutely no creativity or originality at all.

"I asked ya a question," Michael growled as he roughly gripped Oliver's dark hair and yanked. When Oliver's obsidian gaze landed on his bully's watery blue eyes, he was irritated by the way Michael smirked proudly at the trail of blood leaking down the side of Oliver's face as if it was an accomplishment.

"Well? I said I thought ya liked readin', ya gonna answer me or what?"

Oliver frowned and straightened his posture slightly despite his intention to remain calm and hope they leave. "That is _hardly_ a proper question, now is it? Besides, I have no idea how you'd actually expect me to _read_ the book when it's being thrown at my head, Michael. Not that I'd expect you to know anything about books, you illiterate moron."

Bizarrely, Oliver felt no regrets at all for the insult he'd just dealt to the older boy. He knew that they would now have a good reason to fight him but for some reason, today he _wanted_ them to fight him. He would finally be able to hurt them back and make them suffer. Every single time he had been harassed, abused and tormented at their hands was boiling down to this moment in time. He was so furious at the world and today he would finally have his outlet for his hatred.

Hearing the vitriolic tone to the words that his victim spat at him made Michael flinch slightly. He had seen the anger and violence behind Oliver's eyes for a while now, but he had never expected him to actually act upon it. Michael was suddenly very aware of his followers gaping at the boy and he knew that he had to set him straight. Nobody spoke to him with such disrespect and got away with it.

"What did ya say to me, kid?"

Oliver raised his eyebrow condescendingly, ignoring the dangerous tone of his bully's voice. If he was correct in his assumption that the other children were intimidated by his high IQ, now would be a fun time to put it to the test and see how upset their inferiority really made them.

"I can actually hear your words being misspelled when you speak to me. I assume your extraordinarily low intelligence must be the result of countless generations of inbreeding. You are dumber than spit, Michael. No wonder nobody loves you."

By this point, Oliver was so high on adrenaline that he felt like he was on cloud nine. Any second now and he would finally unleash his wrath on these weak-minded idiots. Well, as soon as they stopped staring slack-jawed at him.

Just as the shock cleared in Michael's eyes and fury flooded his vision, he balled his hand into a fist and drew it back, ready to fight this suddenly brave boy. Before Michael could land the punch and before Oliver could move a muscle, the sound of a leather crop smashing down on a table shocked all the boys into a state of frozen fear. They knew that sound well, and it meant trouble.

"Michael Stott! What do you think you are doing?" The head nun Sister Angelica angrily yelled from the doorway of the dormitory. She had seen Oliver's bloody skin and Michael's aggressive posture and clicked the pieces of the puzzle together just in time to avoid a full-blown fight. She marched into the room and roughly grabbed Michael's arm, pulling him away from little Oliver, who allowed his eyes to fill with fake tears. Hopefully if he played the sympathy card, he'd be spared from the crop.

"Oliver started it, Sister! He told me I don't read good!" Michael shouted frantically. Oliver bit his lip to refrain from politely informing him that it was supposed to be 'don't read well', not 'don't read good'. He stayed quiet instead and inwardly smirked at the way Sister Angelica raised her eyebrow, undoubtedly thinking the same thing he was.

"Did you start it, Oliver?" The Sister asked tiredly, already knowing the answer.

Oliver vehemently shook his head, flicking drops of red blood onto the floor with every head shake. "No Sister," he whispered with his best victim-voice. "I was reading and Michael threw the Bible at my head."

Sister Angelica's face displayed a variety of emotions, none of them positive. Without saying another word, she pulled Michael's arm and led him down the hall where he would no doubt be punished. Oliver relaxed slightly, knowing that Michael would be gone for a long while. Throwing the Bible never failed to infuriate the nuns and Oliver found great sadistic pleasure in getting the bullies into trouble.

Of course, they would always get revenge on him since apparently 'nobody likes a rat', but it amused Oliver to no end knowing that they would be forced to read the Bible for hours in Sister Angelica's office once they'd received their 20 lashes.

When the Sister and the young bully reached the door to the dormitory, Oliver saw her apologetically turn towards a friendly-looking couple and murmur something about a tour. The couple exchanged glances for a moment and the lady gestured towards Oliver. Straining his ears, the boy managed to eavesdrop on the end of their conversation.

"...no need to have a tour, we've already decided on a child."

Pointing towards Oliver, the lady smiled and told Sister Angelica the one thing that Oliver had always been dreaming of.

"We'll adopt that young boy, there."


	5. Replacing The Dead Boy

_"I have it all and I have no choice but to,_  
_I'll make everyone pay and you will see"_

Oliver was practically jumping for joy at the knowledge that a friendly young couple had just adopted him. While the brown haired man had gone to sign his release papers, his wife slowly approached Oliver with a tender smile on her pretty face. His new mother!

"Hello there, sweetie," she smiled gently once she was stood in front of the bloody-faced boy. She pulled a small handkerchief out of her purse and began to wipe away the blood on the side of his face with gentle movements. The material was very soft and of wonderful quality, these people must be quite wealthy, Oliver realised. "What's your name?"

The boy smiled up at his new mother and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was actually wanted. "Oliver Thredson, ma'am," he responded politely with a little bow.

The lady's features brightened at his charming manners and she seemed to be pleased about choosing him. Her gaze drifted to the paperback book still lying on his small bed. She picked it up and flicked open the first page with long, delicate fingers. _'This book is the property of Oliver Thredson'_ was written in neat handwriting on the battered copy. Such a contradiction: beautiful writing but a poorly maintained book. The woman allowed her gaze to fall on Oliver again and she saw how thin and frail he looked but there was such hope and promise in his dark eyes. The boy himself was indeed a contradiction.

She smiled kindly and handed him his book. "I see that this is yours - do you enjoy reading, Oliver?"

This was the second time he'd been asked this question today, he realised. He'd better answer it nicely this time and refrain from insulting his new mother like he had insulted Michael. The thought would have been enough to make him laugh, but he was too concerned about making a good impression to even consider it.

"Yes, ma'am! I love to read, I think it is the perfect way to stimulate the imagination and expand the vocabulary," he replied gracefully. Oliver was pleased to see the woman's surprise at hearing him speak so eloquently.

With a small chuckle of disbelief, the woman cocked her head at Oliver and stared hard into his soulful eyes. "How old are you, Oliver?"

"Nine years old, ma'am."

"Nine years old..." she muttered to herself, smiling. The lady bent down to brush a strand of unruly dark hair behind his ear then cupped his little face in her hand.

"My name is Flora White and I'm your new mother, Oliver."

Even though he knew it already, it felt glorious to hear her say it out loud. He finally had a mother and a father. He finally had a home. He was finally loved.

———————————————————————

Oliver finally arrived at his new home in the outskirts of Boston. He was right; his new parents were very rich, judging by the fancy car they drove in and the size of the house they pulled up at. His new parents, Flora and Edward, were both extremely kind to Oliver and they answered all his questions in great detail on the drive home.

Oliver learned that Edward was a very successful lawyer and had promised to allow Oliver to borrow as many of his law books he wanted. Reading was vital to a child's learning, he had told him. Oliver agreed wholeheartedly.

Flora was a very beautiful woman and barely wore any makeup, preferring instead to enjoy her natural beauty. She wore a delicate sea blue dress which matched her eyes perfectly and allowed her hair to fall down her shoulders in curls, which also looked natural. Her personality was just as attractive as her looks and she had made Oliver laugh by admitting that she hesitated to accept her husband's marriage proposal because she didn't like his surname. She thought that her new name 'Flora White' sounded like a laundry detergent.

Once they brought Oliver home, they handed him his bag with all his worldly possessions in and directed him towards his new bedroom. With an excited skip, Oliver made his way to the bedroom which he would now be able to call his own. Never in his life had he been able to have a room completely for himself so the young orphan felt like he was dreaming.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see that the room had already been decorated for a boy his age. Little model planes, playing cards and stacks of books littered the room, much to Oliver's delight. He dumped his dusty bag on the floor and collapsed onto his new bed. It was much larger than the one he had at the orphanage and it was so beautifully clean and soft.

He didn't know how long he had been lying there when he suddenly heard a tapping at his door.

"Come in," he called with a smile on his face. He realised that he'd never spoken those words to anyone before, since he'd never had a bedroom to invite a guest into.

He had expected either Flora or Edward to open the door but he was quite surprised when he was met with a boy about a year older than him, gazing at Oliver the way a King would sneer at a peasant. He looked healthy - clean clothes, smooth pink skin, strong bones. Nothing like the weak boy on the bed.

"Oh," the boy murmured disapprovingly, allowing his gaze to shamelessly travel over Oliver's dirty clothes. "When I heard that I would get a new brother, I thought that they would have chosen someone with more class than... you."

Oliver blinked several times in shock before speaking. "Brother?"

The brown haired boy smirked and wandered into the room as if he owned it. "Yes, my parents promised me another sibling after what happened to my little brother a few months ago." The boy began rummaging through Oliver's bag and curling his lip in disgust as he saw the chewed up books and tatty clothes.

Even though Oliver probably didn't want to know what happened to his little brother, he felt compelled to ask anyway. Even if it only managed to distract the boy from rooting through his belongings. "May I ask what happened to him?"

The boy stopped his invasion of Oliver's privacy, much to his relief, and straightened up to his full height instead, staring down at Oliver with a predatory glint in his blue eyes.

"Little Daniel fell terribly ill a few months ago. Obviously, we got our private doctor to assess his condition and it was determined that he had appendicitis. A nasty business."

Oliver frowned slightly at the snobbish boy but continued to listen to the story. The boy took a seat at the desk near the wardrobe so he was only a few feet away from Oliver. He looked deep into the younger boy's eyes as if he was awaiting a reaction to something awful.

"Daniel survived the surgery and we all assumed that he would recover. However, he began to show signs of a terrible sickness. We had no idea what was happening to him and one day, he was lying in bed and he died. Just like that. He died in the very bed you're sitting on right now."

Oliver sat there frozen in shock. He had no idea how to respond and he felt useless as he tried to think of something to say but only managed to open his mouth and close it again. The boy didn't seen to be looking for a response though and he strolled casually towards the door. He paused before he exited and decided to torment the new boy a little more.

"It turns out that the doctor we had employed hadn't properly sterilised the equipment he used during the surgery. Daniel died of septicaemia, slowly and painfully. Judging by the state of that nasty wound on your head, I assume you will meet the same fate as him one of these days. The only difference is that nobody will miss you when you die."

Oliver had never felt more upset in his life. Somehow, this boy was worse than any of the bullies at the orphanage. He wasn't using actions to hurt Oliver, but words. Intelligently articulated, carefully thought out words which snuck into Oliver's brain and burrowed down to the essence of his very being. Oliver had finally found someone his own age who was also as intelligent as he was, but this boy wasn't a friend. He was horrible.

Before he closed the door, the boy spoke again with a cruel smirk. "My name is Steven, by the way. You will do well to remember that. I will be the one to make sure that you never forget you are nothing more than an orphan."

And with that, he closed the door, leaving Oliver to sit in silence with heartbroken tears dripping down his face.

———————————————————————

One week had passed by very quickly. Even though Steven (not Steve, Oliver had learned the hard way to use his full name) had tormented Oliver at any chance he got, he was still much happier here than he ever was at the orphanage.

It turned out that Steven's story of his brother's death was true. Oliver was amazed at how little Steven seemed to care for his dead sibling. Oliver had never known his real family and the thought of ever meeting his real parents one day filled him with a hope that made his soul glisten. He couldn't understand ever wanting to bring them harm or forget that they ever existed.

Steven didn't seem to actually _hate_ his family though. They were all sat peacefully together in the spacious living room listening to the radio. It was a common family activity: the boys would read some books while the parents listened to the news. For some reason, they had been obsessively tuning into the English BBC radio station for the past few days, although Oliver was not sure why. Everything seemed normal and calm, until they heard the tragic announcement on the news.

The familiar voice of the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain sounded through the speakers of the radio, announcing that a state of war now existed between Britain and Germany. Oliver froze. He suddenly realised why the radio had been on constantly and what his parents' worried glances were about. There was now a terrible war happening in the world and nowhere was safe.

Flora worriedly ran from the room to make some calls to her friends in England to check that they were alright. She looked devastated about the news and Edward quickly followed after her to make sure she was okay. Oliver was left alone with Steven and the Prime Minister's voice still sounding in the background.

The older boy was even looking miserable, which was saying a lot. He caught Oliver's gaze and snapped out of his momentary sorrowful trance. The familiar evil smirk covered the boy's face and Oliver realised that it was probably a defence mechanism that he used to hide his true emotions. Inside, Steven was torn up about the news but he appeared to be distant and cold on the outside. Oliver wondered why he had ever feared this child - he was just another pathetic bully, nothing special. Anger began to build at this realisation and all his previous fear was beginning to drain away.

"We should start preparing for this war, Oliver. Luckily we don't need to buy a gas mask for you, I think we'll just let you die with the-"

Before Steven could finish the insult, Oliver had launched himself towards the boy with the hardback book he had been reading and he smashed it down on his face, hard. All the fear he had felt this past week had vanished and the fury that he had wanted to unleash all these years had finally found a target.

He hit Steven over and over with the book like a hammer. The sharp edges of the book began to cut into his flesh with the force of the blows and Oliver vaguely heard the sound of his own sinister laughter in between Steven's screams.

A strong hand gripped the back of Oliver's collar and yanked him away from the boy cowering on the floor. Edward ripped the book away from Oliver, making a large paper cut on the boy's flesh and Oliver realised straight away that he had made a mistake when the searing pain in his hand brought him back to reality.

Flora raced in the room and screamed at the sight of her son covered in blood and bruises with a broken nose from Oliver's onslaught.

There was so much chaos in the room: Oliver's frenzy, Steven's pain, Flora's fear, Edward's rage... meanwhile, a horrible war had begun to tear through the world. Today was a day that Oliver would never forget.

———————————————————————

When Oliver arrived back at the orphanage, bruised and aching from the punishment that Edward had given him, he had never felt more alone in his life. The car ride back to the orphanage had been horrible; Edward had screamed vile things at Oliver, calling him evil, disturbed, disgusting. The man shouted that he regretted saving Oliver from the bullies and giving him a nice home. He told him that it was his fault that his real parents abandoned him, who would want such a horrible child? Oliver didn't even have the energy to cry.

The nuns looked at him with disappointment when they saw him return and he knew that once they learn of what he'd done, they would punish him too. Not to mention, the bullies would have a fun time getting revenge for the way he got them into trouble the last time he was here.

It was then that Oliver realised that there was no way anyone would want to adopt him now. He would be stuck in this hellhole forever. His outburst would undoubtedly be written on his file and he would be seen as spoiled, tainted.

But then again, wasn't he already tainted? His real parents abandoned him here without any consideration for his wellbeing. Nobody would want someone else's child, especially not now - a war had just broken out in the world. If America joins the war as well then everyone's attention would go to the soldiers, not the lonely orphans.

Oliver's mind went back to Steven. He had once pondered over how nonchalant the boy had been when he described Daniel's death. At the time, Oliver had wondered how anyone could hate their family. Now, as he was being led into Sister Angelica's office for a taste of her leather crop, he finally began to understand. This entire mess was not his fault, it was his parents' fault for leaving him here. They were supposed to love him unconditionally, but instead, they neglected him.

The moment when the cold leather crop bit into his already bruised skin was the very first moment where he felt the fires of rage direct themselves to the people who gave him his life. His miserable, depressing, lonely life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the inspiration behind Steven came from the "Stuck-Up Steve" character from the Horrid Henry books! I used to love reading them as a child, and since Henry was my favourite character, it goes without saying that Stuck-Up Steve really got on my nerves in the stories. It feels nice to knock him down a peg or two all these years later!


	6. The Corpse

_"You can kill yourself now,_  
_Because you're dead in my mind,_  
_The boy that you loved is the monster you fear"_

**December 1954, Tufts University School Of Medicine, Boston.**

While the other students in Oliver's anatomy class enthusiastically discussed what they would write about in their dissertations, Oliver was sat quietly by himself, feeling far too preoccupied to even spare a moment to worry about completing his Ph.D. The pretty female corpse lying on the anatomy slab across the room was dominating his thoughts and he found himself thinking that she looked strangely comforting. For some reason, he remembered that day fifteen years ago when he had realised that he was truly alone in the world. The day when his adoptive parents had called him evil and dragged him back to the orphanage.

At the time, Oliver had assumed that when he arrived back there he would have been bullied even more by the other children, but as soon as they heard about his attack on his 'brother', it seemed to have the opposite effect and the bullies actually left him alone. Fear brings respect, Oliver realised, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the realisation that he wasn't to blame for his actions had brought him the gift of clarity. Never before had his future looked so bright than the moment when he realised the fault wasn't his own. He was simply a product of his environment, he wasn't born a monster.

But Oliver knew that the person he was right now could only be described as a monster. Twisted desires to ravage the corpse lying across the room overwhelmed him so much that he couldn't even hear what his professor was telling him. Oliver knew it was wrong, he knew it wasn't normal, but nothing could stop the darkness clouding his vision and obsessing over the corpse of the woman who he could make into his mother. Her smile was so gentle and comforting; if only he could see for himself what it looked like up close. He wanted to look into her face and see that smile directed at him. Her smile, a small gesture of love, all for him.

"Thredson? Are you even paying attention?" His professor snapped at him from across the room, making Oliver jump with surprise in his seat. He heard quiet giggles from the seats behind him and his cheeks involuntarily reddened from embarrassment. Thankfully, he was a smart young man and he could answer any question that his professor would ask him, so at least he could avoid any more shame. All he had to do was keep his cool and he'd be fine.

However, the fact that his teacher held a glistening scalpel over the chest cavity of the corpse didn't help Oliver relax much.

"I asked you a question, Thredson. Listen up. What happens when you separate a living heart from the body?"

"It has its own electrical supply so it will continue to beat," he answered confidently, recalling last week's lesson on Loewi's neurotransmitter study.

"Good. How many cells get their blood from the heart?"

"Every cell in the body, except the corneas."

"What is the function of the right side of the heart?"

"To pump blood into the lungs."

"And the left?"

"It pumps the oxygenated blood back into the body."

"Correct. The heart is a well oiled machine, as you just described. You are clearly capable of passing your exams, Thredson, but you must start paying attention to what I'm saying to you. If you lose focus, you will be about as useful as this decaying corpse right here."

Before the professor allowed any time for Oliver to react to his words, he plunged his scalpel deep into the woman's flesh beneath him to reach the precious organ he'd just asked Oliver to describe. He continued rambling on about the heart to his class, who were all eagerly fixated on the lesson except for one dark haired, heartbroken young man, staring at the bloody corpse with a solemn expression.

———————————————————————

Once Oliver was absolutely convinced that nobody was in the lecture theatre, he snuck back in and tiptoed over to the corpse of his 'mother'. He didn't know why he considered her to be his mother, just like he had no idea why he was trying to be quiet in the deserted room. Even though it was just him and the corpse, he still somehow thought of the woman on the slab as alive, so he respectfully stayed quiet for her.

When he pulled back the white sheet covering her, he was met with a beautiful expanse of pale skin. He was pleased to see that she had been stitched back up again from earlier, although she now had new stitches elsewhere. Oliver realised that she had probably been used for other lessons and he was slightly surprised to realise that he felt angry about it.

Slowly, he placed a trembling palm on her chest, caressing her fresh scars and allowing his sick instincts to take over. With a small glance towards the door, he tore his own clothes off and began stroking his own chest with his free hand. In his imagination, he felt the pain she had gone through from when she had been cut with the scalpel earlier. They were connected. Having a mother to care for and who would care for him felt divine. He was complete. It was a breakthrough.

Oliver hesitantly bent down and pressed the bare skin of his chest against the skin of the cold corpse lying before him. The blissful sensation of skin-to-skin contact ignited something in the trainee doctor and he physically shuddered at the realisation that this was what he had been missing his entire life. A mother's touch.

For a few moments, he cuddled the corpse as if his life depended on it and the tension in his muscles that had unknowingly built up over the years melted at the soothing touch. Just as he was about to press his cheek against hers, he caught a whiff of a strong, unpleasant substance. Formaldehyde.

The repulsive scent of the chemical brought him back to reality. He was hugging a corpse! Disgust slithered under Oliver's skin and left goosebumps in its wake. What's happened to him?

As he pulled away from the body, an uncomfortable feeling of loneliness swept over him at the loss of contact. He knew that he couldn't just leave her there to be cut up and leered at by other students. She was his, _all his_. He had to take what belonged to him - her skin.

Finding his professor's spare scalpel, Oliver didn't hesitate in pressing the blade against the woman's dead flesh and dragging it downwards in a confident, smooth motion. The skin cut perfectly and was easy to peel away from the muscle. Small drops of blood spattered onto what was left of Oliver's clothes, but he completely ignored it. Removing her skin was so hypnotic and cathartic for Oliver - he felt like he had found his calling.

Once he had completely stripped her of her skin, Oliver carefully wrapped his prize away in surgical scrubs and placed it into his bag. He threw the white sheet back over what was left of her body and quickly made his way back to his room, not even sparing a thought as to what his professor will think when he finds a carcass missing all of its skin.

———————————————————————

Oliver was extremely disappointed. The skin that he'd gone to the trouble of removing had turned out to be worthless. It offered none of the comfort and security of a mother's touch that he'd wanted. The cold, stiff flesh did nothing to quiet his craving.

He had harboured the desire to be touched his entire life but he had only recognised and acknowledged it earlier today. He wanted - no, _needed_ \- something special. Something better. Something real.

He knew that he couldn't continuously chase cheap imitations of his mother his entire life. There was only one person who could make all the pain go away. His _real_ mother. He had to find her.

Being a medical student granted Oliver many privileges, such as having access to medical files across the state. He made his way down to the archives in an attempt to locate his own medical file and link it to his unknown relatives. Of course, what he was doing was forbidden, but then again he had already broken the rules by cuddling a corpse after class. Stealing medical information wasn't so bad in comparison, he thought.

Eventually, he found it. A thick file labelled **'Thredson, Oliver'** was now freely accessible to him. He browsed through the details, observing every injection, every illness and every broken bone he'd ever had. Finally, Oliver found what he was looking for. His parent's details were on the last page of his file, printed in perfect black and white.

 **Father:** Sawyer, Kevin Graham _(Deceased)_  
**D.O.B:** 15/06/1885 - 05/02/1944  
**Address:** Briarcliff Mental Asylum, Boston.  
**Blood Type:** O Positive.

 **Mother:** Thredson, Lynn Marie.  
**D.O.B:** 30/01/1897  
**Address:** Briarcliff Mental Asylum, Boston.  
**Blood Type:** O Negative.

Oliver sat there frozen. There were three pieces of information that shocked him to the core: 1) his father was dead, 2) both of his parents had resided in a mental asylum, 3) his mother was _still alive_. He couldn't believe it. He re-read the page at least a dozen times before it finally sunk in.

There were so many questions that he needed to be answered but he didn't know which one was more important. Why was he given his mother's surname and not his father's? Why weren't they married? Why did they give him up? How did his father die?

Needing answers, he flicked through the other pages in the file and found the page displaying his own information. He was surprised to find out that his birth address was in the same place listed as his mother's current address. _Oliver had been born in a mental asylum._

His mouth dropped open in shock. He had wanted to study psychiatry to better understand his disorders and his 'afflictions', but he would never had guessed that he had been afflicted since birth. Being born in an asylum had doomed him to a life of misery straight from the start. Hatred began to boil inside him once more, but another unfamiliar emotion swirled around inside him too.

If only he would have had his father's surname, then he would have easily assumed that his mother had wanted nothing to do with him and Oliver would have had no guilt for despising her, but the fact that he had been given the same surname as her made him somehow feel wanted. Maybe she actually did care for him? The mere thought made the strange emotion strengthen and he suddenly recognised it as love, directed to his estranged mother.

The young doctor groaned out loud at the confusion clouding his thoughts. He didn't know what to believe and what was real anymore. Was he loved or despised? Adored or rejected? Cherished or forgotten?

In the chaotic tempest of his mind, there was only one glimpse of clarity. He needed to get the answers from his mother - the one person who could tell him everything he needs to know. What he would do to her when he got those answers was still unknown even to him. Love and hate were battling against each other in his mind and whichever came out on top would determine his poor mother's fate.

Whatever happens would at least put all of Oliver's insecurities and uncertainties to rest. One day, he vowed to go to Briarcliff and sort this out once and for all. He would either find a mother to adore or a victim to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun fact: Lynn's first and middle names (Lynn Marie Thredson) were thought up by cutting the name Marilyn in half. Marie. Lynn. Marilyn. Not very subtle, I know, but since this fanfic is based on a Marilyn Manson song, I didn't have to think _too_ hard for an idea for a name that meant something to me!


	7. Exit Light, Enter Night

_"Peel off all those eyes,_  
_Crawl into the dark,_  
_You've poisoned all your children to camouflage your scars"_

**October 1955, Boston.**

It was the night before Halloween when Oliver was preparing to finally meet his mother. Since he was still in training to be a psychiatrist, he had managed to obtain a temporary position at a mental institution so he could shadow one of the doctors and learn from their expertise. Luckily for him, Oliver had been assigned to Briarcliff.

Over the past couple of months, he'd been dreaming of this day and he was filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness at what was to come. Ever since that day in the lecture theatre when he had skinned the woman's corpse, Oliver had been plagued with dreams and forgotten memories of his childhood. He often fantasised about what might have happened to him if he would have had a normal upbringing. All the pain and torment could have been avoided.

Taking a small sip of coffee to help him stay awake, Oliver flicked through the papers splayed out on his desk one more time to remind himself of the words written there. There was really no need to bother since he had it all memorised, but it was more of a comfort action than anything else. He had been asked to review the patient files before he made it to the asylum, but the only one he had bothered to look at so far had been the file bearing his mother's name.

There were details that he had already known from reading the attachment in his own file at the university, but it felt good to be able to cross reference it with this file to confirm that it was actually _real_. Her blood type was O negative (same as Oliver's) and their birthdays were only a couple of days apart. If star signs were anything to take seriously, then Oliver and his mother - two Aquarians - were both apparently 'eccentric, humanitarian, unpredictable, stubborn and highly intelligent'. Oliver ticked all those boxes, he couldn't help but wonder if his mother did too. He wondered what else they might have in common.

However, judging by what he had read in the 'current diagnosis' section of her file, he couldn't help but worry that he'd never get a good chance to see her true personality. Her original diagnosis had been homosexuality, which was the reason for her confinement to Briarcliff in the summer of 1928. When she had given birth to Oliver two years later at the age of 33, she had been labelled as 'cured' for her homosexuality, however additional disorders had somehow manifested instead. Lynn was described in the file as 'violent' and 'highly unstable' after Oliver's birth, but it never specified why.

The doctor who had evaluated her at the time, Doctor Budge, hadn't been very thorough in his notes regarding her treatment plan. It was obvious to Oliver that his mother had received no help at all from this man and it angered him immensely. Maybe if he would have treated her conditions, she would have been able to leave Briarcliff and raise Oliver properly. Briefly, he allowed the love for his mother to envelop him and he honestly felt heartbroken knowing that she had been kept away from him all these years. She had been locked up in an asylum and he had been stuck in an orphanage. Oliver turned onto the next page, bracing himself for the upsetting words printed on this page.

Lynn's personality had completely changed in late 1945. The end of the Second World War had seen the institution turn over to the Catholic Church and Doctor Budge had been replaced by a nun - Sister Jude. Doctor Arden had taken over as the surgeon and he was actually the man that Oliver would be shadowing tomorrow. Immediately after Arden had taken over control of the patient's wellbeing, Lynn's behaviour had completely deteriorated. Under Budge's care, she had apparently been aggressive and hot-tempered, but Arden had somehow snuffed all the fight out of her in less than a week since he had arrived there.

Anger flooded through Oliver's veins when he read that Lynn had been threatened with a lobotomy if she didn't cooperate. It seemed that she had completely lost the will to live after that; it was written that she refused to speak to anybody and she completely avoided any social contact. She was mute, lost and alone.

The only sign that there was still some life left in the woman was that she was obsessed with a little red tag that she kept with her at all times, but the notes didn't specify exactly what it meant to her.

His mother was a shell of her former self and it saddened Oliver to think that he will never know what she used to be like before she had lost her mind. The part of her that might have once loved Oliver, the part that gave him her surname, could have disappeared by now. She might not even remember that she has a son.

Oliver sighed heavily and mulled over the pages a little longer before he checked the time and did a double take. It was now extremely late and he had a big day tomorrow - the most important day of his life. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes tiredly and stuffed the files into his briefcase to stop himself from being tempted to read them again before heading to bed.

As soon as his head hit the pillow of his dorm bed, he felt himself relax under the covers. By this time tomorrow he would have met his mother - the only family he's ever truly had. Even though he still felt betrayed by the fact that she'd abandoned him, he couldn't help the timid smile of a young boy spreading on his sleeping face as he pictured her gathering him up in her arms with motherly love when they finally reunite.

———————————————————————

"Come tiptoe to the window,  
By the window,  
That is where I'll be,  
Come tiptoe through the tulips with me"

Oliver smiled at the sound of the kitchen radio playing the beautiful Nick Lucas song 'Tiptoe Through The Tulips', which he somehow recognised to be his mother's favourite song. He didn't know what sort of music she actually liked of course, so Oliver realised that he was dreaming. That, and the fact that the ceiling seemed to stretch so far up into nothingness that there was no way this could be real.

Even though his surroundings were very unfamiliar to him, he managed to make his way around the large house fairly easily and soon enough he found the source of the music.

Whistling along to the tune, he walked into the kitchen and looked around for his mother. She wasn't behind the counter, but there was food halfway made, so she must be around here somewhere. She wasn't in the pantry either - the door was wide open but nobody was inside. Oliver made his way over to the table to set the plates while he waited for her to appear.

Just as he reached the table, he noticed that there were large bumps under the white tablecloth. Curiosity piqued, Oliver grabbed the smooth material and ripped it away. A horrified scream burst out of his mouth when he saw Flora White's mutilated body lying on the breakfast table. Her skin had been completely torn off - it wasn't clumsy like an animal had done it but careful and meticulous like a surgeon had operated on her. Veins and muscles pulsed and writhed before his very eyes, some parts of her flesh were even stripped down to the bone. The worst part were the small whimpers of fear that seeped out of her open mouth despite her best efforts to remain hidden from whoever did this to her.

The poor woman was still alive.

Oliver panicked, feeling his head swim wildly with guilt. He didn't know how it had happened but he knew somewhere in his heart that he was responsible for it. After all, he had experience in skinning after what he'd done to the corpse in his anatomy class. They were going to find him and lock him away forever. Oliver had spent his childhood locked away, he couldn't allow it to happen again. There must be a way out of this dream. It's _too_ real.

A strange feeling like he was being watched crept over Oliver, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He span around and came face-to-face with Steven, the boy he'd assaulted all those years ago. Never in his life would he have ever expected to see him again, especially with the open wounds and bruised flesh that was still on the boy's face from his attack. He looked exactly like the same battered boy as when Oliver had last seen him, like he'd been frozen in time on that fateful day. Oliver once again knew that he had just done this to him.

"I hope you die, Oliver," Steven whispered with that same snobbish voice that he'd remembered all these years. The boy's upper lip curled in disgust as he spoke and he regarded Oliver with undisguised contempt.

"You deserve to die for what you did to her, what you did to me, and every sick thing you will do in the future."

Oliver shook his head sluggishly. He felt like he was submerged in water and his movements were becoming slower and slower. Even though he knew he was dreaming, the truth of Steven's words were real. He wished that he could just wake up and carry on with his life and forget about his adoptive family from all those years ago. He wanted to go back to normal.

"Delusional boy. You are a monster, Oliver. Not _normal_. Pretending that you're anything else won't fool anyone, not even yourself. You know you're evil and nothing will change that."

In sheer panic, Oliver turned and ran the other way in an attempt to escape from the bloodshed that he'd caused. To his dismay, the rotten corpse of Mr White was now hanging from the ceiling, blocking his path. A noose was hanging from his neck and stretching upwards, but it wasn't connected to anything. The dream lacked realism in that sense, but Oliver was so wildly desperate to escape the horror that he knew was _too_ close to being real.

He span around at the sound of Steven chuckling to himself. The boy's laugh was throaty and deep, much like Oliver's when he had been beating the life out of him all those years ago.

"Look at all this chaos. You know who's to blame don't you, Ollie?" Steven teased with a shark's grin.

Oliver shivered at the thought that he was to blame, after all, he had already caused so much harm to Mr and Mrs White and their son. _Of course_ this was his fault.

In the blink of an eye, Steven disappeared from his place next to the table and suddenly reappeared mere centimetres from Oliver's face. The boy slapped Oliver hard across the face with the back of his hand, forcing his head to violently shift to the left and his eyes to screw shut.

"NO, you idiot!" The boy roared at Oliver before he had a chance to recover. "The fault isn't really yours. It's _hers_."

Just as he snarled the last word with pure hatred, Oliver opened his eyes to see an older, female looking version of himself tied to a kitchen chair. He had never seen this person before in his life but he somehow knew who she was.

His mother.

Oliver realised that he didn't even know what his real mother looked like, so his sleeping mind had conjured up the best it could with all the scraps of information Oliver's overactive mind has fed it over the years.

Now that she was here, tied to a chair in Oliver's dream, it seemed too good to be true. He could unleash his anger on her without having to pay any consequences or ruin any chance they have at renewing their bond.

With a sick grin, Oliver approached her body while he flexed his fingers in anticipation of bloodshed. The vague feeling of consciousness began to ebb into the dream sequence and Oliver knew that it was only a matter of time before he woke.

The walls of the kitchen began to brighten and lose their opaque quality as if the sun was shining straight through them. Oliver's hearing started to fade out and he found it harder and harder to hear the sound of the radio that was still playing. Even Oliver's footsteps began to become more sluggish, like he was wading through mud. He hated the sensation of lucidness in a dream that he didn't want to end.

Just as he finally reached his mother, he raised his hand and reached towards her figure. Numb fingers wrapped around her throat and just before he could finally end it, Oliver's vision snapped open and he found himself lying in bed, drenched in sweat while strangling his pillow like a madman.

He growled in annoyance that his dream had finished too early. Pent-up fury at being neglected for years hadn't found an outlet, even in his dream. If he had managed to harm her in sleep, he might have been calm enough to behave nicely with her when he was awake. Now, he didn't know if he could even manage a smile for his mother.

Rage was pulsing through him, every heartbeat driving his fury through his trembling body. Maybe Steven was right when he said that his mother was to blame for everything. She left him, abandoned him, threw him away like a disposable object to fend for himself.

For too long Oliver had defended her. He had assumed that she had a good reason for leaving him, but right now he couldn't think of anything that could justify the neglect he experienced. A red veil of anger descended over Oliver's eyes as he realised that today was the day that he would finally see her and get his revenge.

All the goodness left in his soul faded in that moment and unstoppable hatred burned brightly in its place.


	8. Red Tag

_"Pray unto the splinters,_  
_Pray unto your fear,_  
_Pray your life was just a dream,_  
_The cut that never heals,_

 _Pray now baby,_  
_Pray your life was just a dream"_

The long car journey to Briarcliff consisted entirely of Oliver ranting under his breath while gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make his white-knuckled fists tremble. He knew that he couldn't just charge into the asylum and confront his mother in the violent way he had been dreaming of, so he allowed himself to vent his frustration in the privacy of his car, where he could pass it off as road rage if anyone saw. If he wanted to do this properly, he had to stay calm.

As a boy, he had been able to control his temper reasonably well... until that incident with Steven lit the fuse of fury within his soul. Nowadays, he actually has to stop himself on a daily basis from tearing apart anyone who dares to harm him in any way. Fear had been the one thing keeping him in line as a child, but when that fear died during his assault on his 'brother', he felt invincible.

Strangely enough, he never seemed to recall a time where he had ever felt guilty about it. Remorse and regret were emotions that never seemed to register with Oliver either - whatever it was that he had done wrong, he stood by his decision to the end. The psychiatrist in him raised an eyebrow at this and he found himself trying to diagnose himself for the millionth time. He knew that all the signs pointed to psychopathy - a thought that should have scared him, but didn't. To him, being a psychopath was neither a good or bad thing, it was merely a fact, just another aspect of his unique personality. He couldn't help his disorder any more than he could help the colour of his hair.

No, he wasn't to blame. Once upon a time, he had been a sweet, innocent child. The abuse and trauma he had been forced through all his life had acted as a catalyst to spark off his condition. If only he would have had a normal upbringing like everyone deserved, his psychopathic traits might have laid dormant.

But just because Oliver didn't feel any remorse for his actions didn't mean that he couldn't _feel_. Jealousy, for instance, was a particularly powerful emotion clouding his mind and it became especially apparent when he started medical school and saw the cocky, privileged rich kids who took their perfect upbringing for granted. Oliver had equally despised and envied them, and used to fantasise about waking up one day and being normal just like them. He found himself spending a lot of his time wishing that his life had all been someone else's and he would one day become his true self. It had even gotten to the point where he had begun to pray that his life was a dream.

Now, Oliver was not a religious man. The Catholic orphanage he had been raised in had actually driven him away from their teachings and he laughed at anyone who believed that the world was a beautiful place created by a divine power. After all, what god would create a world so cruel? His strong atheistic beliefs had made him realise just how stupid he was being for wishing, hoping and praying for a better life. When Oliver had skinned the corpse all those months ago, he knew that he had finally snapped out of his destructive cycle of self-loathing - he knew that he had found his calling. Oliver couldn't help but feel almost ashamed that he had wished his life away. He had a bad start in life, yes, but he had a very promising future. Rather than spending his time being envious of others, he vowed to redirect his energy to making his _real_ life better.

And that takes him right back to where he is now: speeding towards a mental asylum to meet his long-lost birth mother who had forgotten all about him. Oliver spat out yet another vitriolic insult and punched the steering wheel in anger. His fist slipped down the wheel and a pedestrian leapt in fright as his car horn blared out while he sped past them. He didn't care. All that mattered was that he would finally start to get his life back on track, beginning with the death of his mother.

Murder was a subject which was never far from Oliver's mind. Most young adults his age fantasised about sex, but Oliver found himself too busy wondering what the most efficient way to hide a body was instead; he was rarely interested in finding someone to love. He promised himself that as soon as his 'business' with his mother was over and the fires of anger had been quenched, _then_ he would think about starting a family. He'd always wanted a mother to love him, but since that was never going to be possible now, he would have to settle for the love of a wife and child. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. The death of his mother would not only bring personal retribution but it would actually be the event to kickstart his own family into motion. The irony was not lost on him.

Oliver's mouth curved into a small smile. It felt strange on his face after spending so long shouting and glaring, but he was happy to have a future to look forward to. Just in time too, since Oliver was now catching the first few glimpses of Briarcliff Asylum. A quick glance at his watch told him that he had spent the entire 2 hours and 46 minute car ride in a state of barely-controlled fury. He chuckled to himself as he marvelled at how easily he managed to calm down in time. The excitement for what was to come was too overpowering for rage to course through his body much longer.

The tall, looming building coming into his view made his heart pound out a quick rhythm. He felt like a little boy about to open his Christmas presents; anticipation, impatience and giddiness fuelled his frantic thoughts and made his fingers shake. Briarcliff was not a particularly attractive establishment - the bricks looked dusty and unstable, the windows were locked shut with bars bolted down and chicken wire covered what was left. But from Oliver's perspective, this shabby building was the closest place he had to a home, so a strange nostalgic sensation tugged at his tear ducts and coaxed a small tear from the corner of his eye.

With a small sweep at his cheek, he dusted the wetness away and sniffled. A tiny smile spread on his lips as he parked his car and gazed at the building before him, realising that his only flesh and blood relative was somewhere inside.

"I'm coming for you, mommy," he whispered quietly. His calm voice and docile expression expertly concealed his true intention, but the predatory glint in his eyes refused to be hidden.

Grabbing his briefcase and stuffing a packet of cigarettes into his pocket, he leapt out of his car and wasted no time in skipping up the stairs of the asylum. The loud, ominous creak of the heavy door seemed to act as a makeshift doorbell, since a dozen pairs of eyes landed on the young doctor standing at the door once they heard the sound. Patients, nuns and orderlies seemed to stop what they were doing in favour of eyeing the fresh meat. Oliver couldn't help but feel his small smile waver at the sudden attention.

He cautiously peered back at the people observing him and seemed to recognise a few of them. Before he'd left his apartment, he had made sure to briefly flick through the rest of the patient files so he'd at least have some knowledge of patients who weren't related to him. It would have certainly looked suspicious if all his knowledge on the patients was centred on the one person who shared his surname. Oliver recognised some patients more easily than others; for instance, the young woman standing on one leg next to the stairs with her arms stretched out must be Jo, the catatonic schizophrenic. He saw a few more patients with distinctive symptoms, but he couldn't find the one he came here for.

A door opened behind the long spiral staircase and a sinister looking man with a stern expression strolled out. He followed the curious gazes of the others in the room and finally noticed the young doctor. With a tiny smirk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and casually made his way to Oliver.

"Ah, you must be Thredson. Right on time, I appreciate punctuality."

The man pulled one of his hands from his pocket and stretched it towards Oliver. "Doctor Arden," he introduced himself, staring at the young man with an unusual emotion twinkling in his eyes. Oliver shook his hand while remembering that this was the same man who had broken his mother's spirit in less than a week. Despite Oliver's murderous intentions, he couldn't help the uneasiness bubbling up inside him at the thought of this man's cruelty.

Still, he allowed a pleasant smile to form on his face as he spoke to the man. "Pleased to meet you, doctor. I really appreciate this opportunity to work with you. Thank you for approving my application."

Arden took his hand back and clasped it behind his back. "Yes, I must admit I was reluctant to be shadowed. I've never had anyone show so much interest in my work before and I couldn't help but wonder about your intentions."

The old doctor frowned slightly and cocked his head to the side. Oliver took the hint and began to follow him into the asylum. Thankfully, everyone stopped staring when the door swung shut behind him. It was almost as if they knew he somehow belonged here. He was not an outsider, but one of them.

The two doctors walked through a labyrinth of corridors to a more secluded area of the asylum. Oliver was looking around frantically for his mother, but he hadn't seen that many patients other than those few he'd noticed walking up and down the staircase. Arden abruptly began talking again, picking up where he left off during their last discussion.

"As I said, I was hesitant to allow you to shadow me, but then I got thinking. I'm getting older and I should be looking to pass my knowledge onto the next generation. If something were to happen to me, I want to know that someone out there will continue my work."

Oliver wasn't exactly sure what Arden was referring to, but decided to just smile and nod in agreement. It seemed like the right response and Arden relaxed slightly.

"I trust you've had time to look through the files?"

"I have, doctor."

"Good. Surely you recall a patient by the name of Mrs Nile?"

Ah, Jo. The schizophrenic standing by the staircase. "Yes, doctor. I believe that I saw the young woman earlier. She was stood-"

"On one leg with her arms stuck out, yes. She does that a lot." Arden seemed very dismissive of the woman's symptoms and Oliver couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger at his nonchalant attitude towards a serious condition. The patient needs help, not dismissal.

"We will begin by treating her condition. You will assist me with preparing for her surgery so I can get an ample opportunity to study your abilities."

Oliver brightened slightly at the idea of helping the woman but a strange feeling that something was wrong triggered alongside it. "Surgery?"

Arden paused in front of a large door and turned to face his apprentice. With a shark's grin that would have sent a lesser man running, he leant in slightly before whispering conspiratorially.

"There is only one effective treatment for her condition, you know that Thredson. We will perform the transorbital lobotomy in precisely one hour."

And with that, Arden swung open the heavy door with little effort and stepped into his laboratory, leaving Oliver to stare after him with pure shock painting his features.

———————————————————————

After spending fifteen long minutes silently prepping the surgery room, Oliver excused himself and promised to return later for the 'treatment' he would aid in. Arden nodded without looking at him and continued scribbling away in a tattered notebook.

Oliver released a long breath once he was out of Arden's lair and spent a few moments gathering his strength together. The older doctor had been fairly accommodating so far but Oliver had caught more than a few glimpses of Arden's true personality. He knew enough to consider the doctor a threat, so he made a mental note to try to stay on his good side and not arouse the doctor's suspicion.

Taking a deep breath and running a hand through his fluffy hair, Oliver made his way down the corridor in the hope of finding the person he came here for. He hadn't seen that much of the asylum yet, so this was his first time exploring the facility. Oliver's eyes were wide with awe at the realisation that he was born in this very building. He was home.

The nuns scurrying around the corridors added to the homely feel, after all, Oliver had been raised by nuns in the orphanage. He had never actually liked any of them but having them around now encouraged a sense of nostalgia to swirl around pleasantly in his mind.

Oliver walked by a room that appeared to serve as the infirmary, several rows of beds were stretched through a long room hosting several patients. After a quick sweep of the people in the beds, he didn't see any who looked like his mother. With a sigh, he continued walking down the corridor in search for the common room. Logically, it would be the best place to find a patient since they would all be gathered there.

After a few dead ends and wrong turns, Oliver finally located the common room. An annoyingly upbeat French song played on repeat through the room and Oliver suppressed a shiver at the religious lyrics. He had heard _Dominique_ a few times before and he'd never liked it. By the way the patients twitched and shuffled agitatedly as the song played, he figured that they heard this so often that he'd have to get used to it as well.

If he wasn't already insane, he probably would have lost his mind by now.

Shaking his head and scanning the faces in the room, he felt his heart plummet in his chest at the realisation that his mother was not here. A dancing Mexican, a woman talking to an empty chair and a lady biting the skin on her wrists until they bled were the only women old enough to be his mother in the room. None of them seemed to show any symptoms of her disorders and none of them looked even the slightest bit like him. The red tag that she apparently obsessed over was nowhere in sight. It was obvious that Lynn Thredson was not here.

He decided to do a sweep of the entire facility. Oliver spent the rest of his free time going through all the storage rooms, staff rooms and even the bakery but he couldn't find any traces of her. The young doctor knew that he would have to return to Arden soon to assist with the surgery on that poor woman. He felt a twinge of despair for Jo but he had to obey Arden's orders if he wanted to stay here and find his mother. By this point, revenge wasn't the first priority - all he wanted was to know what she looked like and if she really was here. Maybe he was in the wrong Briarcliff.

Oliver lit a cigarette to calm his nerves while he reluctantly made his way over to Jo's cell. He realised that he hadn't bothered checking the women's ward yet but he didn't really expect his mother to be in her cell. Oliver didn't even know which cell was hers.

Passing a few guards, Oliver swung a heavy door open to reveal the women's ward. Some women were crying, others were begging. One was laughing.

Most were silent though. Especially Jo, who was mute due to her condition. Oliver peered inside her cell and the blonde woman stood peacefully in the corner of her cell in the usual awkward position: one leg in the air, arms splayed out, head down. With a miserable sigh, he put his cigarette out and swung the door of the cell open.

"Come on, Mrs Nile. We're going to make you better again."

A lie, but Jo didn't need to know that. The woman didn't react to Oliver's voice and stoically remained in her position. A thought crossing his mind, he hurried down the corridor to a supply closet. After a few moments, he dug out a spare wheelchair and prepared to roll it back to Jo's cell. If she wasn't going to walk, he'd have to help her. However, something from the cell at the end of the corridor made him freeze in his tracks.

A grey haired older lady with soulful dark eyes was sat on the edge of her bed, cradling something in her hands. She was gazing at it as if it was the most precious thing she'd ever seen, but there was a deep sadness in those eyes that captivated Oliver. He was unable to tear his gaze away from the woman, and when her hands shifted, he knew why he was drawn to her.

She was holding a red tag.


	9. The Birth Of Bloody Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned many times before, the song quoted is Man That You Fear - Marilyn Manson.  
> I don't own the song.  
> *Puts on Severus Snape's accent*  
> Obviously.

_"The world in my hands, there's no one left to hear you scream,_  
_There's no one left for you"_

"Three, two, one, and..."

A sickening squelching sound filled the operating theatre when Doctor Arden drove the ice pick through Jo's frontal lobe. Oliver knew the severity of what he was assisting in - Jo's prefrontal cortex would be permanently damaged now, but it didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him any more other than the sad lady holding the red tag at the end of the women's ward. He had finally seen his mother. His real, actual mother.

He had expected to feel anger, and he did. He had also expected to feel longing even through the fury he felt for her. However, he hadn't expected to feel love, and especially not so strongly. Maybe killing her might be harder than he thought.

While Oliver numbly taped bandages over Jo's eyes, Doctor Arden looked over at him appraisingly.

"You did well, Thredson. I expected you to be squeamish like most young doctors are but you impressed me. No hesitation, no pity, just cold clinical detachment."

Arden approached Oliver and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly too hard.

"That's good. Doctors shouldn't allow their emotions to cloud their judgment. Remorse is a plague that I have never been a victim to, and judging by your attitude neither have you. You will learn a lot from me, Thredson, you have potential."

The older doctor smirked slightly before strolling towards the exit. He tore his surgical gloves off and disposed them in the rest of the waste. Arden made to leave the room but paused with one foot out of the door.

"Once you've cleaned up, you can take the rest of the day off to do what you like. Study, meet the patients, go home, whatever you want. Just make sure you're well rested by tomorrow, we'll most likely be doing another surgery."

With a cruel glint in his eye, Arden pushed his glasses up his crooked nose with one finger and trotted out of the door while muttering to himself loud enough for Oliver to overhear.

"We'll try one last time to get that mute bitch to speak. If finally destroying that stupid tag won't be enough, maybe a lobotomy will be."

Just as the words registered, Oliver gasped and trembled hard enough to knock a scalpel off the table he was wiping. He ripped his head up to ask Arden to confirm his suspicions, but he was gone. Oliver plucked a thought out of the tornado violently ripping around his head and repeated it like a mantra.

_He's going to hurt my mommy._

———————————————————————

Not knowing what else to do, Oliver raked his hand through his soft dark hair and continued pacing the operating theatre. He didn't understand why he was so upset; after all, he had been planning her murder almost non-stop since his nightmare last night. Even then, he had always been harbouring a certain level of disappointment towards her for abandoning him, he just hadn't realised that it was being aimed at his mother, but it had always been there.

Oliver whined sadly and paced even faster around the room. He felt so confused. Seeing his mother had both angered him but also made him crave her attention and love, if it was even possible for her to love anymore. This morning, he was plotting to kill her but now he wasn't so sure. The poor woman had looked so sad, as if she'd seen all the cruelties of the world. Oliver didn't want what was left of her soul to be destroyed through Arden's lobotomy.

The clock's ticking. Even if Oliver would have changed his mind and backed out of it, Arden would almost certainly lobotomise her. She was doomed. But maybe if Oliver could help her snap out of her delirium and get her to talk again, they'll let her live without the surgery. At least that way he'd have more time to plan what to do with her.

Oliver took a shaky breath in an attempt to settle his confusion. His emotions didn't settle, but he calmed down enough to figure out his next plan of action: meeting his mother. If anyone was going to kill his mother, it was going to be him. He picked up one of Arden's scalpels and shoved it in the breast pocket of his shirt, just in case. He threw his suit jacket on over it to conceal the blade.

The doctor hurriedly finished cleaning the room and then made his way to the women's ward of the asylum. On the journey there, he tried his hardest one last time to figure out what his emotions were before he met her. He wanted their reunion to be perfect but if he was angry one second and loving the next, how could it be? With a humourless snort of laughter, Oliver realised that he was starting to feel like Jekyll and Hyde.

He decided to act depending on how she treated him; if she didn't even know that she had a son, her fate was sealed, but if she showed the kind of motherly love Oliver had always wanted, he'd figure something out to spare her from Arden's surgery.

The young doctor paused at the end of the women's ward and peered down the hall. Right at the other end was the cell holding his mother. His only family. Oliver tentatively stepped down the hall, acutely aware of the seemingly deafening sounds of his shoes in the quiet of the ward. The patients had stopped making noise - when he peered into the first cell, he found it empty. So was the second.

With a flick of his wrist, he checked the time on his watch and noticed that they would all be in the mess hall by now. Damn it. His mother must be there too.

Before Oliver went on a mission to find her, he remembered how she'd stayed in her cell rather than go to the common room with the others. Lynn was a recluse and he recalled the printed words in her file saying how she avoided all social contact. There was a chance that she could still be in her cell if that was the case, and it would suit Oliver perfectly. Nobody else was around, they had complete privacy.

With this knowledge, Oliver resumed his stroll down the hall. His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls and he flinched with every sound. The footsteps began to slow as he reached her cell. Oliver frowned at the unfamiliar swirl of emotions he felt: anxiousness, hope, longing. Nobody had ever made him feel so _weak_ before.

Carefully, he peeped his head through the bars and stared at his mother's cell. She was still there, sitting on the same spot on her bed and cradling the tag. Lynn looked like she hadn't moved at all since Oliver had last seen her and the only noticeable difference in her solemn appearance was that her fingers were trembling from the October cold.

Oliver could almost physically feel his eyes dilating from the powerful emotions coursing through him. He felt like giggling with boyish delight at the sight of her, but he restrained himself in order to take in as much information as possible before he made his presence known.

She was quite pretty in her own way. It was obvious that she had once been a very attractive young woman and she would still be beautiful now if it wasn't for the tatty blue Briarcliff dress and matted grey hair. Oliver was pleased to see how much he looked like her; even if she rejected him, he would always have a part of her with him.

Oliver decided that he'd been staring long enough, so he unbolted the heavy door and pushed it open with a loud creak. Lynn hadn't moved at the sound and remained motionless on the bed. Oliver wondered why she was so obsessed with that tag - he briefly considered taking it away from her so she would pay attention to him, but he had a feeling that she would just shut down instead and become completely unresponsive. Besides, the thought of upsetting her made his chest tighten painfully. He wondered what had happened to his rage, but the only anger he felt was directed at himself for wanting to take away her life so cruelly.

Oliver stepped into the cell slowly as if he was approaching a wounded animal and any sudden move might scare her off. Lynn was still unresponsive. He shut the heavy door behind him, locking the rest of the world away. Now it was just him and his mother, together in the tiny cell.

"Lynn Thredson?"

His voice was so quiet and so unstable that he wasn't sure that he had even spoken. The lady on the bed didn't verbally respond, but she blinked her eyes slowly at the tag, almost in recognition of her name. Oliver took that as progress and cleared his throat.

"I am a doctor-in-training. Briarcliff is the institution I was assigned to so I could learn more about psychiatry, but the real reason I requested to be posted here was so I could finally meet you."

The young doctor paused for a moment, trying to think of anything else to say that could delay the inevitable. He sighed and decided to just get it over with.

"You may not remember me. I hope more than anything that you do, but it's been so long..." Oliver took a shaky breath before blurting: "My name is Oliver Thredson."

Before he could follow it up with _'I'm your son'_ , Lynn's head quickly snapped up to meet his eyes for the first time. Her own brown eyes were wide with surprise and shock and her mouth hung open. She scanned his face, analysing every feature - he could visibly see the hope blossoming in her eyes. Lynn stifled a sob and she seemed to believe him. Her son had returned to her. She stuffed the red tag in her dress pocket, already forgotten.

"Y-you're my Oliver?"

The woman's voice was old and rusty with age, and was especially gravelly from lack of use - from what Oliver had read, she hadn't spoken a word since the war ended - but Oliver didn't think he'd heard anyone say anything so perfect. His mute mother had broken her silence to speak his name. _My Oliver_ , she'd said.

"You're my mother," he responded on the same tone. Lynn made a strange yelping sound and launched herself at her son with her arms open wide. Without thinking, Oliver greedily dived into her embrace and pressed himself as close as possible to her trembling body while she wept with joy. He felt a few tears of his own trickle down his face at the contact and he realised that this was the first time anybody had ever given him a hug. It was beautiful.

"My baby," Lynn mumbled through her sobs. One of her hands cradled Oliver's head and the other one began to stroke his back comfortingly. She was much shorter than Oliver and he had to crane his neck as far as it would go in order to bury his face in her warmth. Her grey hair was soft against his face, making the doctor feel loved and protected for the first time in his life. He had been fantasising all the different reactions that she would have to being told that he was her son, but he had never actually anticipated something so perfect. He began to feel a pang of embarrassment at the violent thoughts coursing through his mind this morning. Now that he had a mother to love, he would never let her go and he certainly didn't want to hurt her. But first, he wanted answers.

"Mother," Oliver whispered when Lynn had finally quietened down, "why did you leave me?"

Lynn pulled back from the hug but didn't let him go. Her grip on his arms was tight but not painful - she didn't want to loosen her grip and risk losing him again. "I didn't leave you, Oliver. They stole you from me." Lynn's eyes had darkened when she spat out the words and her rough voice became almost feral. She didn't look angry at Oliver, but she seemed to look beyond him at an imaginary person who haunted her mind.

"I'd only had you with me for a month before they tore you from my arms without even letting me say goodbye. They used my condition as an excuse to condemn me as unfit to have a child. I tried, baby. I really tried. They wouldn't listen to me when I'd told them I was sane, all they did was lie about my 'illnesses' so I'd never leave here and find you."

One of her wrinkled hands reached up to cup Oliver's cheek. He hadn't realised he was crying until a thumb brushed against him to wipe the wetness away. "I went on hunger strike but they just force-fed me. I tried to escape so they threw me in solitary. I told them I'd kill every single one of them until they let me see you, but they fed me drugs until I couldn't even think. I'm pretty sure that they'll just lobotomise me one day and leave me to die. Before today, I was prepared for that - I had no hope left after years of torment. But now that you're here," she paused in her speech long enough to press a tender kiss to his other cheek, "I have a reason to live again."

Oliver already couldn't stand being so far apart from her so he pulled her forward for another hug. As soon as he felt her arms around him again, he felt his entire body relaxing and his soul at peace. Before today, he had never known what a hug felt like but now he was already an addict.

"For so long, I thought you'd abandoned me because I was no good for you," he sniffled, nuzzling her hair. "I wondered why I was different and why I didn't have a family. All my life, I'd been lonely. Nobody loved me at all and I felt so empty."

Oliver pulled her closer to him in an attempt to try and soften the harsh words he was about to say. "I filled the hole inside me with anger. I had no one to love and everyone to hate, especially you. This morning I wanted to see you dead for leaving me but now that you're in my arms, I can feel the emptiness going. I feel whole for the first time in my life and I never ever want to be apart from you again."

Lynn had started crying again at his words: huge, racking sobs that made her whole body convulse. She was hugging Oliver with all her strength and he knew that she'd probably collapse without him holding her up. Her body was exceptionally frail and malnourished from years of neglect - an observation that made Oliver's blood boil - and he could easily support the weight.

"I love you, mother."

Lynn pulled back slightly and broke out into a dazzling smile - the first smile she'd displayed in the little time Oliver had known her. He somehow knew that she hadn't smiled since he'd been taken away. Seeing her so happy again made his heart melt. "I love you too, baby. I always have."

They stood there for a few more moments in blissful peace before Lynn broke the silence. "I had no idea what to expect when they took you from me, but I couldn't help but picture the worst. I've had nightmares for years about you suffering without me and it tore me apart. But look at you," she smiled, stroking his face lovingly. "You're such a strong person and you've made something of yourself, despite everything you've been through. What was that you said earlier, you're a doctor?"

"Doctor-in-training, but yes," Oliver grinned proudly, preening at her praise. She shook her head lightly in amazement and rested her arms on his broad shoulders. "Overcoming adversity and prevailing is what life's all about. I always support the underdog and you're an absolute paragon of the disadvantaged coming out on top. It's not been an easy road, but if you can overcome the obstacles in your path, you can do anything."

Wise words that Oliver would make sure to never forget. He nodded and placed his hands on top of hers still resting on his shoulders. Worry courses through him at the feel of her icy cold skin and he quickly unbuttoned and shrugged off his suit jacket to shield her from the cold. She thanked him with a grateful smile and sighed gently at the feel of the warm jacket against her skin.

"You don't belong in here, mother. I don't know how yet but I'll figure a way to get you out of here. What were they even thinking? This cell is freezing. They shouldn't have left you in here like this."

Lynn's face softened at her son's words. It was the first time anyone had shown any proper care in years. Some of the nuns were nice enough, but they all treated her like a ghost because she never spoke to them. It was almost like she wasn't there, just stuck in a terrifying limbo where she couldn't die, but was nowhere near living.

"Thank you, Oliver. From the moment when my family left me here all those years ago, everything in my life has been so horrible. The Great Depression was awful to live through, I lost all the friends I made here in Briarcliff to either starvation or suicide. Even worse than that were the world wars. I somehow lived through both but I worried every day whether you were still safe out there. It tore me apart knowing I wasn't there to protect you. Losing you was the greatest pain of my life. Get me out of this asylum, my child, so I can give you the love you deserve. I can't bear to lose you again."

Oliver broke into a teary grin at her words and rushed forwards for another hug. He loved the way her soft motherly skin felt against his, so this time he decided to lean down to her shorter height and press his cheek against hers while they hugged. When their skin crashed together, Oliver felt elated at the contact for one blissful second, but stiffened as he sensed something had gone horribly wrong.

His mother had turned as cold as ice immediately after they made contact and a painful choking sound fell out of her mouth by Oliver's left ear. Not knowing what was wrong, Oliver pressed closer to try and comfort her, but the horrific sound only increased. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her embrace to assess her condition, but when he saw what he'd done, he cried out in agony.

"Mother!"

The scalpel he'd taken from the operating theatre had fallen from his shirt pocket when he bent down and was now deeply lodged in his mother's throat. Blood was pooling out of her mouth and trickling down her chin while she choked on the sharp blade. Lynn locked her wild eyes with Oliver just as she crashed to the floor, pulling at the blade and reaching towards her son for help.

Oliver was in so much shock and panic that he almost forgot his doctor training. He crumbled to the floor next to his dying mother and wrenched her hands away from the blade. From what he could see, the scalpel had pierced her carotid artery and the only reason she was still alive was because her hands were too bloody to successfully pull the blade out of her neck. If the scalpel is removed, she would die of exsanguination. If it is left in, she would choke to death. A river of tears poured down his face at the knowledge that this was all his fault.

Lynn managed to choke out a distorted version of Oliver's name with pleading eyes before beginning to weaken. Her arms stopped struggling in Oliver's grip, her brown eyes rolled back in her head and her breaths became more irregular. With no tools to fix her, Oliver sat there uselessly while he watched the life slip from his beloved mother. The life that his own carelessness had taken.

"No, no, no. Don't go." Oliver sobbed uncontrollably while Lynn's breaths became shorter and shorter. His eyes were dripping with tears but he forced his eyelids to stay open. He wanted to remember everything about his mother before she-

"No..." The young doctor pleaded brokenly as he watched his mother take one final painful breath before choking on the pool of blood in her throat. Her body fell limp, the arms that still lay in Oliver's grip seemed to weigh so much more now that her life had slipped away. Even her beautiful eyes - the same eyes that she had given Oliver - had darkened and no longer held the emotion they once did - her soulful orbs now looked like black pools from her death-induced pupil dilation. There was nothing left. Nothing that resembled the woman he'd grown to genuinely love even in the short time he'd known her. There was so much love to give, so many questions to ask, so many memories to make. Now all he had was a quickly cooling corpse, so even her beautiful skin would harden from rigormortis soon enough.

Without caring who heard him, Oliver screamed at the top of his lungs in white-hot agony. He punched the floor repeatedly in the hope of quelling some of the pain he felt, but his bloody knuckles only made the coppery scent of blood increase. He felt sick.

If only he hadn't taken the scalpel in the first place, she'd be safe and alive. He should have had more trust in her that she'd love him. His incorrect assumption that she'd reject him like the others cost his mother her precious life. The only person who had ever shown him love, he'd murdered. Tragic. So tragic.

Oliver whined in despair and bent down to press his cheek against his mother's for comfort, just like he'd tried to do earlier. Except now, the warmth and safety he'd felt were non-existent. Desperately, he tried to press his whole body completely against hers to help keep her skin warm, but the sticky crimson blood made him feel too upset to continue. When he pulled back, he noticed that the little red tag she'd been so obsessed about had slipped from her dress pocket and was now floating in a pool of her blood.

Oliver blinked through his tears and felt a new wave of despair overwhelm him at the sight of the only possession his mother seemed to have now coated in sticky red. He carefully picked it up, wiping his mother's blood away as best he could before studying it. Oliver gasped as he saw why his mother had regarded it with so much reverence: the tag was _his_. It bore his name, birth weight and his mother's name. The identification tag that the doctors had placed on his wrist when he'd been born had been the only thing Lynn had in her possession to remember her only son. Ironically, it was now the only thing Oliver had left to remember her.

He didn't want it to be that way. His beautiful mother didn't deserve to only live on through a name tag. Oliver wanted - no, _needed_ something more.

With a cry of heartbroken insanity, he grasped the bloody handle of the scalpel and yanked it out of her neck. A small fountain of blood spurted out after it, coating Oliver's face in the sticky liquid. Ignoring it, Oliver pressed the scalpel to the base of her neck just below the stab wound and began to slice downwards. Her soft skin had been the reason she'd died, he couldn't let it go to waste now. As he slowly carved her flesh away from her body, he couldn't help but think of how much of a monster he'd become.

He'd skinned a corpse before, but he'd never killed anyone. Oliver began to cry harder than before, making his cuts slightly jagged as he removed the skin. Tonight was Halloween night and children all over the world would be dressing up as ghosts and ghouls in celebration of the holiday. Oliver didn't need to bother - the blood dripping from his body and the cadaver's skin brushing against his flesh was far more terrifying than any fictional demon. Oliver was a real life monster.

The large patch of skin from his mother's chest finally peeled off and Oliver immediately pressed the gory mess to his face, nuzzling the sticky flesh with unrestrained desperation. It did nothing to quieten his craving for his mother and he knew that this was not the end. If his real mother was no longer there for him, he'd have to find another. Oliver was surprisingly accepting of that; the tiny part of him that had been good had finally died the moment he'd stuck the scalpel into Lynn's throat. He knew he was already damned and he didn't care.

Bloody Face had taken his first victim. Sadly, the woman he'd killed had been the only person he ever truly loved.

_"When all of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams will be destroyed"_


End file.
